


On a Cold Brooklyn Night, November 1931

by dottieapple



Series: Dottie's Happy Steve Bingo entries 2018 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Best Friends, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Happy Steve Bingo, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottieapple/pseuds/dottieapple
Summary: Written for Happy Steve Bingo 2018: 13-year-old Steve Rogers is real sick, again, but this time his best pal can stay for a sleepover. It's all budding innocent feelings, cute Steve/Bucky friendship shenanigans, and gentle care here, dear readers.





	On a Cold Brooklyn Night, November 1931

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, hope you enjoy. See my endnote for headcanon on my own story, because why not? 
> 
> Also, feel free to stop on by and follow [Dottie's Fan Trash Emporium](https://dottieapple.tumblr.com) for reblogs of fandom stuff I like, links to more stories, and the occasional drabble.

Bucky was flatly humming a tune, aligning the couch cushions on the floor next to Steve’s bed. Steve peered over from his pillow, half his mouth turning up in a scoff. “Don’t see why you gotta get ‘em lined up all perfect, Buck. You’re just gonna toss and turn and end up with your butt on the floorboards like always.”

 

Bucky surveyed his work, putting his hands to his hips. It’s like he hadn’t heard Steve at all. “Looks good,” he crowed. “Should be fine for sleeping.” He puffed out his chest in pride, as if he and Steve had never made a couch-cushion bed at least once a month for the past six years. 

 

Sarah brought a folded-up quilt into the room and handed it to Bucky, who unceremoniously dropped it atop his makeshift floor mattress. “James, sweetie, are you sure that’s going to be enough to keep you warm? You know it gets draughty in here at night.” She was dressed in her work uniform as she readied herself for a night shift at the hospital, and her voice came out in the register she used when mothering and nursing.

 

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Rogers. Stevie needs the extra blankets more. If I get real cold, I’ll put my coat on.” Bucky smiles softly as Sarah ruffles his fluffy hair and drops a quick peck on the top of his head as he begins unfolding the threadbare quilt, a favorite of Bucky’s since he first slept over at Steve’s when they were eight or so.

 

Steve fidgeted under the blankets, rolling to the side to watch his best friend attempting to make his makeshift bed. Sarah plopped down on the edge of the mattress, reaching over to feel Steve’s forehead. “I think your fever is coming down, my love. If you feel warmer later, maybe give a blanket to Bucky?” 

 

“He doesn’t need it, Ma. He’s nothin’ but a cold-blooded lizard boy.” Steve knew darn well he’d share--might even insist on it if Bucky fought him. No one needed to know the twinge of jealousy  he felt for Bucky’s steadily growing height and tendency to run warm. Steve lurched up from under the thick pile of blankets to reach for the mug on the nightstand. “Maybe he can make me more tea, though. I’d even let him have a mug for himself.”

 

Sarah leaned in to kiss her boy on the cheek. “That sounds like a lovely idea.” Bucky was paying no attention to either Rogers, as he was digging around for something in the knapsack he’d brought with him. He produced a comic book, a thicker novel of some sort, a pile of wadded up fabric that was most likely his clothing for the next morning, and a handful of white handkerchiefs. “I have to go now. You two behave yourselves, and James, I’m counting on you to take care of Stevie if he needs it. I know you know his breathing exercises. Mrs. Malloy two doors down knows you’re both here, and you can go to her if you need more help, okay?”

 

“Okie-dokie, ma,” agreed Bucky, still absently rifling through his few things. 

 

“I love you, ma,” Steve smiled weakly. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

 

“My boys are growing up,” Sarah grinned, blowing them each a kiss. “See you tomorrow.” She turned, giving a little wave, and left.

 

“And don’t do anything stupid while she’s gone,  _ Buck _ .” Steve spoke up, hoping Sarah might hear him on her way down the stairs. He amused himself so much that he started to laugh, which quickly turned into a cough that rattled his chest. Even after his lungs allowed him some respite, he couldn’t wipe the frown off of his face. Stuck in bed, again. At least what he had this time wasn’t contagious, and Bucky could stay. 

 

“You alright, pal?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded, his breath returned, though a little shaky. “I swiped my favorite deck from home. You feel up to shuffling cards?” Bucky popped up from the floor to his feet with zero effort. “I’ll go put a kettle on while you do it.” 

 

Steve held out his hand, and Bucky placed the cards solidly in Steve’s palm. He couldn’t resist a dig. “Is this your lucky deck? You’re gonna need all the luck you can get, ya jerk. But you know what? I’ll be nice and let you make tea for both of us. Poker or rummy?”

 

Bucky huffed, barely a laugh. “Your call, Rogers. You know what you can tolerate right now if your head’s still swimming.” Bucky lightly patted his best pal’s leg, padded by layers of blankets. He reached for Steve’s empty mug and lumbered to the kitchen.

 

Steve felt his cheeks warm as he watched him walk away. It wasn’t due to the fever. Now that Buck was 14, the way he walked was changing from a wiggly bounce to something more solid and self-assured. It stirred up feelings deep in the pit of Steve’s stomach that he didn’t quite understand, but he knew he liked it. It seemed as though Bucky was learning to imitate the movements of his favorite actors in adventure pictures. Both boys idolized those fellas.

 

A few hours later, Steve yawned and stretched his aching limbs. The fever still clung to him with its fingertips, but the skeleton-shaking chills he’d felt the night before had dissipated. His teeth no longer chattered, but the cold air of the night was seeping into the room. Goosebumps raised on the backs of his hands and along the exposed part of his forearms. 

 

After losing four out of five hands of poker with his lucky deck, Bucky had flopped down onto his cushions to read, passing Steve the comic book he’d just finished that afternoon. The boys sat in amiable silence, reading by the warm, dim light of the oil lamp. “It’s gettin’ awful chilly, pal. You feeling okay? You need anything?” Bucky’s head popped up from beside the bed. 

 

“Yeah, I need you to shut your trap so I can go to sleep.” 

 

Bucky tilted his head back and forth slowly, a couple of vertebrae cracking. “Sounds good to me. ‘m tired. You warm enough? Need a glass of water?” Bucky stretched up onto his knees and pressed the back of his hand to Steve’s forehead and cheeks. He nodded, neither smiling nor frowning. Steve huffed out a silent laugh--if only Bucky’s actual poker face were that unreadable, maybe he’d beat Steve at cards more often. 

 

“Buck.” Steve sighed as he pulled the weighty mass of blankets to his chin and rolled onto his side.

The room darkened as Bucky extinguished the lamp. He gave Steve’s padded shoulder a gentle squeeze and settled back down onto his couch-cushion bed. “G’night, Stevie.” He cocooned himself in his singular blanket, just as he’d done for years.

 

Steve wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but it had been a solid, dreamless sleep. He jerked awake as he felt a weight drop down on the edge of his mattress. 

 

He and Bucky always had a tendency to wake up in the middle of the night around the same time. Any normal sleepover, they would pass the time with dumb jokes or make faces at each other until somebody laughed and Ma (Rogers or Barnes) yelled for them to settle down. 

 

It was not, however, a regular occurance when Steve was ill in bed. Steve squinted and blinked several times until Bucky came into better focus. “What are you doing, you big lug?” he mumbled. “What time is it?”

 

“Move over.” 

 

“What?”

 

“Move over, Steve, it’s freezing,” Bucky whined.

 

“I’m sick.”

 

“Please,” Bucky begged, his voice sincere with sleepy softness. “Ain’t gonna take your blankets, but I could add mine.” His whole body, clad in longjohns, shuddered. “I p-pr-promise I won’t kick ya in my sleep or anything. I been laying awake down there, shivering. It’s probably warmer out in the main room, but I ain’t gonna leave you in here all alone.” 

 

Steve drew in a deep breath, which he didn’t cough out. That seemed promising. He supposed Bucky wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and the two would’ve been side-by-side on the floor were it not for the sickness wracking Steve’s scrawny body. It felt like a Herculean effort to scoot over under the woolen lead weight of the blankets. Bucky tossed his quilt from the floor at Steve’s feet, making a lump near the foot of the bed.

 

Bucky was unusually quiet as he shifted under the heap of covers beside Steve, rolling to face him. He still wiggled and shifted and wiggled some more, stretching his legs to get comfortable. Steve rolled onto his side from his back to look him in the eye, maybe shoot him a small glare for being so hyperactive. Then Bucky reached out, his palm covering the back of Steve’s neck, and the tiny blonde yelped, a high-pitched squeak of a noise. “Aah! Geez, Buck, your hands are like ice!” 

 

Bucky sleepily muttered something about the floor being colder and  _ mid-November _ and  _ one day _ and  _ proper heating _ , talking down into his own shoulder as he drew his hand back. A sleepy ghost of a smirk tilted Bucky’s lips as he relaxed under the blankets. Steve supposed this was how he could take care of his best friend who far too often was the one taking care of him. The least he could do was share his bed with the person he trusted most after his own Ma. “Night, Bucky,” Steve smiled, rolling onto his back. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

 

Bucky stirred from a light snooze, rolling a bit closer to Steve. He reached out, draping his left arm across Steve’s stomach. He made a satisfied hum, like the ones he made at the first bite of a particularly good pie. For some reason, Steve gulped, even though this wasn’t the first time (nor would it likely be the last) his best pal crowded up in his personal space, sleeping and unaware. Bucky vocalized something soft and unintelligible, pressing his face into his end of the pillow.

 

What Steve noticed, to his own surprise, was that he felt a fondness and security at the solid weight across his middle. Steve’s usual reactions to Bucky’s sleepy heft usually involved kicking, wiggling, and groaning until the larger of the two boys rolled over or moved. Clearly, his drafty bedroom was affecting him more than he’d realized. Having someone to share warmth with sure was nicer than being alone with blankets. Or God forbid, sleeping under a threadbare quilt in a coat on top of those lumpy old couch cushions. 

 

The remaining feverish ache in his body had dulled to an ordinary stiffness. Steve also noticed how much calmer his lungs felt. Sure was nice to be on the mend, he thought to himself, drifting off as he listened to Bucky’s even breaths that tickled past his shoulder into his good ear. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Dottie's Headcanon for Her Own Story**  
>  1.) The threadbare quilt is known in the Rogers' household as "Bucky's blanket". It was given to him to use by Sarah the first time he slept over as a kid, and he always reaches for it when he's over. To him, it is always soft and comforting. Bucky also likes to think it smells like home, and it relaxes him if he's had a particularly rough day where he ends up at the Rogers' place. 
> 
> 2.) I like to think that what Bucky mumbles at the end of the story that Steve doesn't understand is probably, "Love you, Stevie" or "I love you". Whether Bucky says this intentionally to little Steve, automatically as he would to a family member, or just as some kind of clueless sleep reflex? I don't have an answer for that exactly, so feel free to tell me your thoughts.


End file.
